Oh Danny Boy: A Sweet Contemporary Romance

by Josie Riviera

  “I know.”

  “Are you willing?” he asked quietly.

  Her throat clogged. She couldn’t find her voice.

  He cupped her chin. His blue eyes gleamed with purpose. “Long-distance relationships require a great deal of commitment. Network connections are spotty, plus I’ll be circumnavigating language barriers, time changes and jet lag. If your schedule allows, perhaps you can meet me on occasion? I’ll arrange and schedule your flights.” He brushed his lips across hers. “I’ll miss you too much if I don’t see you every day.”

  Through happiness and unabashed tears, she managed, “I can’t fly to a different country every day. However, I will try to see you as often as I can.”

  “What more can a man ask for?” Slowly, he bent his head, his mouth lingering over hers. Their breaths merged. His kiss was longer, primal, claiming her.

  When he lifted his head, he said with a grin, “One of my international franchisees is in Rome. You can join me there and show me all the shops you pilfered. That is, if they’re still in business.” He waited for a beat, the teasing grin gone. “I also want to see your orphanage. Do you remember the town you were in?”

  She shook her head. “My Irish mom said the town was close to the Egadi Islands. She may have mentioned Palermo. That town may be miles away from your coffee shop.”

  “No matter. We can fly there or take a train. I’ll investigate. Also, we can research your long-lost Italian brother’s whereabouts.”

  “I remember his name was Luciano.” She ran her hand along the sleeves of Danny’s sweater. “I don’t know if my orphanage is there anymore, or if my adoption records are available.”

  “We’ll find them. In addition, the weather will be warmer in Italy, which will help your breathing.”

  “Yeh.” Because in that moment, she knew. She needed to be with him.

  “That’s it? You’re agreeable?”

  “I don’t strike you as the agreeable type?”

  He laughed and kissed her. “Good. Everything’s settled.” He drew out a copy of his itinerary from a kitchen drawer. “Take this so that you can keep track of me. And I assume you’ll be in Farthing, waiting for my return. The key word is that you’ll be waiting for me.” Although his tone was light, the heat from his smile warmed her blood.

  Briefly, she closed her eyes, then smiled at him and nodded.

  His cell phone buzzed, persistent, and Danny uttered a quiet Irish curse. His laughter had faded. “My business leaves me no peace,” he muttered.

  “Your business is a large part of your life.”

  “Too large a part, I’m beginning to realize.”

  An insistent knocking at the door drew a more colorful oath from him.

  She pulled out of his arms and tucked his itinerary in her handbag. “Go. I’ll follow. It must be important.”

  Danny stalked to the door and threw it open.

  A disheveled Aiden raked a hand through a knot of his carrot-red hair. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Brady.”

  “Perhaps I wasn’t clear enough.” Danny placed his hands on his hips. “I texted that I wasn’t to be interrupted.”

  “My apologies, sir. Could you step into your boardroom? Your computer files—there’s an alarming discrepancy. The numbers don’t add up—at least not accurately.” Aiden, the bespectacled guy who was never rattled, was wiping his hands against the thighs of his pants as he spoke.

  Standing behind Danny, Clara clasped her fingers and glanced outside as an explosion of hard rain hit the glass.

  “Can’t this wait?” Danny was asking Aiden.

  “I was vetting all the payments, and one particular invoice did not go through the proper procedure,” Aiden said.

  “What’s the name of the company?”

  “RC Dougal Restaurant Supplies.”

  Danny scrubbed a hand over his face and hesitated. She caught the hesitation before he said, “That’s the name of the factory Clara works for.”

  Aiden shook his head. “The factory in town is RJ Dougal Restaurant Supplies.”

  “I don’t understand,” Clara murmured, willing her heart to stop racing.

  “I suspect that your Farthing business account has been compromised, sir,” Aiden continued, “I’ve summoned the garda because this incident has all the makings of a cybercrime.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Aiden and Danny hastened to the boardroom with Clara at their heels. Danny quickly took a seat at the computer desk while Clara and Aiden stood behind him.

  “There, sir.” Aiden leaned over Danny and pointed to the computer screen. “An invoice for the café in the amount of fifty thousand euros was submitted by RC Dougal Restaurant Supplies, and our accounting program paid it.”

  “Normal,” Danny said.

  “However, this payment did not go through the proper procedure. The banking information for this supposed company is not valid because the company doesn’t exist.”

  Danny’s fingers tightened around the computer mouse.

  “At first, I assumed the money transfer was normal—”

  Danny lifted his brows. “Transfer? To where?”

  “Most likely to an existing hijacked account. All of this was done outside of normal banking hours. My assumption is so that it would go undetected. Did anyone else have access to your boardroom?” Aiden asked.

  Danny frowned. “No. This room is always locked with a deadbolt.”

  “I checked the lock. It doesn’t appear to have been broken.” Aiden enunciated each word grimly. “What about your computer files, sir? Who has security access and password information?”

  “No one except you and me.” Danny clicked to another screen and said absently, “This Internet connection seems slow.”

  “Aye.” Aiden’s eyes narrowed through his thick glasses. “If someone took control of your computer from a remote location, both computers are connected. However, slipping in and out of the boardroom would have been easier if the hacker knew your account password. Then it’s simply a matter of logging onto your computer and doing whatever you want. Like uploading a phony invoice from a flash drive and telling the accounting program to pay it.”

  “Who could have done this?” Danny tapped his fingers on his desk and glanced briefly in Clara’s direction. “I changed my password a few weeks ago.”

  She stiffened. Her mind raced with possibilities. Had she mentioned to anyone that she suspected Danny had used her name in his new password? Anna? Seamus? Colum? Even so, he’d used a combination of characters for his password.

  Still, was this entire incident somehow her fault?

  She braced her hands on Danny’s chair for support. Her knees had started quaking.

  “An employee, perhaps, who’s down on their luck?” Aiden was asking.

  “I trust my employees with my life.” Danny leaned back in his chair. “Ian, Kathleen, and several others have been with me since I started my first coffee shop. I only hired one new employee, a dishwasher, within the past couple of weeks.” Danny lifted his gaze to Clara. Under his breath, he asked, “Any thoughts on this matter?”

  “Thoughts?” she echoed, surprised that she’d managed to keep her tone composed and reasonable. Very softly, very carefully, she asked. “Perhaps your computer has a virus?”

  “A computer virus can’t lift fifty thousand euros from a business account,” Aiden said sharply.

  Of course, she realized that. And through her mounting apprehension came one adamant denial: Seamus, Danny’s notable and newest hire, couldn’t possibly be at fault, no matter if all the evidence in the world pointed to him.

  Her dear brother had lost his beloved wife, and then had turned to alcohol and gambling for consolation. That was understandable. Everyone made missteps and needed a second chance. With the help of his loving family, he was slowly piecing his life together. Hadn’t he seemed more upbeat lately? The job at the coffee shop had given him self-respect, as she had hoped. Besides, if Seamus was hiding any illicit,
secretive activities, she would know. He lived with her, and, for the most part, she knew his whereabouts. Furthermore, her brother was a chatterbox who couldn’t keep anything to himself. A cybercrime took advanced, careful expertise.

  Through the boardroom’s window, flashing red lights from the street below brought her rioting thoughts under control.

  Danny, Clara, and Aiden leaned forward and peered out. Under a sky filled with angry, ragged clouds, two gardai stepped from a patrol car. One of the men looked retirement age; the other was stout with a fringe of brown bangs. They both wore peaked hats and formal uniforms and swung their nightsticks in unison. Opening identical black umbrellas to protect themselves from the heavy rain, they marched briskly up the steps to the coffee shop. Clara’s heart beat more slowly with each of their quick strides.

  Clara checked her watch, noting that it was well past midnight. A long, excruciating hour had passed. She stood to the side as the stout garda--his name was Jimmy Doherty--squinted at Danny’s computer screen, while the older garda went over a report with Aiden. This was Danny’s world, where staggering sums of money were invested.

  Garda Doherty leaned forward to get a closer look at the security camera’s video feed. “Nothing is showing on the DVR for the night of March eighteenth. The adapter, cable, and power port seem to be working.”

  “Then how could there be no feed?” Aiden asked.

  “It may have been cut off.” Doherty unbuttoned the top silver button of his black jacket. “Did the coffee shop experience a power outage?”

  “Not that I was made aware of,” Danny answered.

  Clara glanced at him. He stood to the right of his computer desk, his features drawn. His replies had been thorough and composed as he’d answered unending questions. All the while, he’d seemed to be moodily contemplating the situation and never met her gaze. Exhaustion, she’d decided. He’d been awake for almost twenty-four hours and had to catch an early plane to London.

  “It doesn’t look as if anyone broke into the boardroom,” Aiden commented.

  The older garda returned to the door and inspected the lock. “The doorframe hasn’t been forced in and the deadbolt doesn’t show indications of being visibly tampered. We’ll send a locksmith out tomorrow to be certain. Might’ve been a professional break-in. These types of thieves are savvy and don’t usually leave a trace. The chief constable will want to have a look too.”

  “An extra set of keys to the boardroom went missing recently and haven’t been found.” Danny rubbed a hand through his hair. “Regardless, someone hacked into my computer files. And my email. And my online identities.”

  “Happens all the time, sir. We’ll report it as a cybercrime,” Doherty replied.

  Clara concentrated on his shiny black boots, the silver buttons of his somber uniform that seemed ready to burst around his thick waistline, his fringe of thick brown bangs.

  A recollection flickered. Wasn’t he the garda who had arrested her the night she and Jack had attempted to steal money from Clara’s friends, the Murphys?

  She shuddered. Garda Doherty had hauled her to the dank, cramped cell and locked her in. The peeling blood-red paint and sharp walls had reminded her of the suffocating closet she’d been locked in all those years ago at the orphanage.

  She fingered the cold stones of the diamond necklace around her neck. “Computer hacking is a crime?” she asked.

  “Aye, and punishable with a fine and imprisonment from one to twenty years.” He tipped his head. With a dawning look of recollection, he asked, “You’re Clara Donovan?”

  She chewed her bottom lip and nodded.

  “It seems as if I’ve seen a lot of you these past couple of years.” He spoke loudly, bluntly emphasizing the word you. He caught the older garda’s gaze, who lifted his brows in amused derision.

  Danny turned a questioning look on Doherty. “Where? When her brother was in prison?”

  “Ask her. The Murphys are such nice people.”

  With a curt nod to the men, Danny drew Clara into the hallway and closed the door behind them. “Am I missing something?”

  “Is this an interrogation?”

  “It’s simply a question demanding an answer. Who are the Murphys?”

  She paused. His abrupt demand fired her indignation. “I told you to check the past copies of the Farthing newspaper.”

  “I obviously haven’t had time to be going through old newspapers.”

  She threw him a scathing look to match her tone. “Why not? Because you’ve wasted so much time in Farthing around me and my family? Sorry that we’ve become such a burden to an important man like you.” She whirled, intending to walk away.

  He grabbed her by the forearm and angled her to face him. “Clara, what did the garda mean?”

  She thrust her hands against his chest, forcing a space between them. “He was in the patrol car the night Jack Connor shoved me.”

  “Jack did more than shove you, so don’t cover up for him.”

  “I’m not. I—”

  “And that incident didn’t happen two years ago.” Danny released her forearm so suddenly that she reeled. “So tell me what everyone seems to know except me.”

  She took a deep, pained breath and closed her eyes, torn between indecision and decisiveness. Help me to be forthright, she prayed, before realizing that the person she was praying to was Danny. He was compassionate, and kindhearted, and possessed an integrity and empathy rarely found in a person. He of all people would understand.

  She could lean on him, be honest with him, trust him, because …

  Dear saints in heaven. Because she loved him.

  She could scarcely move because of the realization. Her heart filled to bursting. Had her deep feelings been there all the while, tamped down by her shame, her denials, her struggle to be totally self-sufficient?

  She’d told herself that she and Danny had grown close because of the traumatic events they’d shared. Yes, they’d become good friends. She cared a great deal about him.

  She fought the impulse to grab his hand and declare her love.

  She didn’t. Instead, she fastened her gaze on his face, taking reassurance from his calm expression.

  Cautiously, she began answering his question. “A couple years ago, I stole money from my friends, the Murphys. They own a furniture store in town. Jack had convinced me that we needed the money for the rent and that we would repay them.” She swallowed, the memories pressing so close that her ribs felt squeezed together. “I was so nervous that I stumbled out of the store while the burglar alarm was going off. I lost one of my shoes and dropped my purse when I started running. And what I did was so very, very wrong.” She trembled. The sound of Jack’s drunken, high-pitched laugh still sounded in her ears.

  Danny’s blue eyes were inscrutable. “You knew it was wrong and you still went along with Jack’s scheme? The Murphys were your friends.”

  She flinched at the sting in his tone. “Before the robbery, Jack had assured me that the Murphys were rich and would never miss the money. He said they’d never suspect me because I was ‘their charming and honest friend.’” She squeezed her eyes shut, humiliated and furious at herself. And the shame, always the shame.

  Why had she believed Jack? She’d been in a daze when she’d been with him, constantly responding to his demands as he manipulated and altered her beliefs. As a result, she’d lost sight of her own values. And, in ironic hindsight, he hadn’t cared about the rent. He’d wanted the money for his drink and drugs.

  The older garda opened the boardroom door. “Do you want to press charges if we pick up any suspects, sir?”

  “Absolutely,” Danny said. “Whoever did this will pay for their crime.”

  “Can you both step into the room in case we have any further questions?”

  Danny nodded. His expression had changed from alarm, to anger, to carefully neutral. And he hadn’t commented on her admission.

  As the men formed a conclave in the boardroom, Clara pres
sed a hand to her forehead. Fifty thousand euros was an astronomical sum. No one in Farthing would ever be able to reimburse that amount of money.

  In a swish of ruby-red silk, she sank onto the espresso-colored leather couch. She eyed the doorway, noting that Danny’s fern needed watering. Plus, the magazines on the coffee table were in disarray. She’d neatly sort the pile and then water the fern. Surely, there was a sink and watering can somewhere.

  However, her nerves were playing havoc. Deciding that she couldn’t sort, or water, she laced her shaking fingers on her lap. Listening to the men’s muted voices, she closed her eyes.

  When she heard Danny say thank you to the garda and slán to Aiden, she opened her eyes. He came to the sofa and took a seat beside her.

  “How are you faring?” he asked. “You must be exhausted.”

  “Not as exhausted as you, I’m sure. What time do you leave in the morning?”

  “Seven.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and texted someone. “I’ll sleep on the plane.”

  “Don’t you need to go to Dublin first?”

  “Aye.” He snapped his phone shut and slipped it into his pocket. “Ian will drive me. He just left your sister’s flat and is on his way here. He’ll take you home. He can use my car.”

  “You’re … you’re not taking me home?”

  “I have a lot to wrap up before I leave. Aiden is contacting a few of my accounting and computer employees. They’ll be changing and safeguarding all my computer accounts after this hacking.”

  She tried to swallow and had difficulty. “That’s understandable, considering you’ll be gone for several months.”

  He hadn’t smiled, hadn’t wrapped an arm around her, hadn’t so much as met her gaze. His manner was coolly polite, as if he was speaking to an acquaintance, someone he had little interest in conversing with.

  His gaze shifted to his watch, and he rose. Without a word, he walked over to the picture window. Despite the hour and steady downpour, the town was aglow with corner streetlamps and bustling pubs, typical for a Saturday night in Ireland.

  With his back to her, he stared out at the rain for a long while. He was so still, she wondered for a moment if he were breathing.